


Late Night in Naxxramas

by MDidact (SaigonTimeMD)



Category: Diablo (Video Game), Heroes of the Storm (Video Game), Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, F/F, Futanari, Hand Jobs, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, encasement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaigonTimeMD/pseuds/MDidact
Summary: When tensions between Dreadlord Jaina and Deathbringer Sonya get out of hand, things get heated - but not in the way Jaina would like them.





	Late Night in Naxxramas

               “An entire village in only two months? The legendary manipulations of the dreadlords are _truly_ without equal.” Sarcasm dripped from Kel’thuzad’s hollow praise, his sardonic reply punctuated by a subtle eye-roll; frozen blue orbs shifting within skeletal eye sockets.

               It took every ounce of Jaina’s nathrezim willpower not to end the archlich right then and there; not to hurl herself through the frigid air of her master’s throne room and scatter his bones to the floor in a clawed, fel-tinged expulsion of fury, not to assert her unholy dominance over the old skeleton who had done nothing since the day she arrived but croak orders and sass from his enviably well-constructed throne. Every atom of her being vibrated with rage and humiliation, but she pulled herself back from the brink of destruction through learned impulse, a particular section of the _Code of the Nathrezim_ , the tenets taught to young dreadlords before they even learned to hover, echoing through her mind.

                _Who shows the first emotion shows the first intention._

_Who shows the first intention shows the first weakness._

_Who shows the first weakness shows…_

               The deluge of glowing green blood crashing through her veins slowed from preemptive strike speeds, and she forced her clenching jaw into a polite smile.

               “Fallholt’s resistance can hardly be attributed to a failing on my part,” she purred, cloaking her disdain in a sensuous, sibilant wrapping. “Perhaps if the citizens were not fending off Scourge attacks every night, I would have been able to earn their trust in a _timely_ manner.” Her blazing emerald gaze flickered to the armored woman standing at Kel’thuzad’s side, the monstrous warrior whom all but Kel’thuzad referred to by title only: the Deathbringer. Hidden within a massive suit of skull-adorned, frost-tinged armor, and motionless as a gargoyle, the archlich’s general’s body language was impossible to read, although Jaina’s nathrezim senses now detected a low-burning anger seeping out between the unholy plates.

               The archlich ignored Jaina’s bait, and redoubled his reproach.

               “Deathbringer Sonya’s martial skill is second to none,” the archlich hissed, rising out of the throne to full floating height, the tattered fabric of his funereal dress billowing in an unfelt, spectral wind. The luminescence of his eyes blazed with ghostly blue light, and the bones of his fleshless jaw clicked with every syllable, accentuating his anger. “You will not attribute _her_ efficacy to _your_ incompetence in _my_ court!”

               Feeling the situation somehow turn even less in her favor than before, the dreadlord dropped her gaze and bowed low, extending her arms to her sides in supplication; it was one of the first stances that dreadlords learned in the diplomatic arts – it was also an incredibly easy position to attack from.

               “My lord,” Jaina began, “I meant no disrespect to your illustrious Deathbringer, only that—”

               “Enough!” With a word, the temperature in the room dropped forty degrees; frost appeared Jaina’s hooves, and her breath came as in thick white clouds before her face. “I know what you meant,” the archlich continued, spitting each syllable through lipless, clacking teeth, “and I care little for your excuses. If you cannot turn a town full of brainless, incestuous peasants, you are of no use to me as a diplomat, and if you are of no use to me as a diplomat, I will find _other_ uses for you.” The archlich floated back down to his throne, and rested his bony jaw on his knuckles in mock contemplation. “I’ve read that fel blood can be used to empower certain spells; perhaps I’ll test that theory.”

               Jaina’s mouth turned to an arctic desert, her throat to a glacial crag that no amount of saliva could thaw.

               “There is an isolated community of farms north of Eastborne that must be corrupted, and their crops properly plagued,” the archlich sighed. “Perhaps you will find farmers whose only conversational experience is with passing merchants and livestock on lonely nights less of a challenge.”

               Jaina’s stomach turned at so simple an assignment, but she also could not suppress a quiet sigh of relief; a new mission meant the archlich’s use for her was not yet spent – at least not entirely. Knowing her position was still safe for the time being, the dreadlord decided to add a little more security to her master’s waxing tolerance: she relaxed her grip on the blackened handle of her staff, and rose back to her hooves – though not without fanfare: she arched her back, thrusting out the suggestively ample curve of her breastplate, flexing her toned stomach, and showing off her thick, pale thighs. Such displays had broken the wills of even the most pious victims, but they were but the prelude to the true show.

               Keeping her head and eyelids lowered, Jaina’s eyes flicked up to meet Kel’thuzad’s own icy gaze, her fel-green orbs promising all manner of delights in a single gesture as only a nathrezim can express. Kings, convents, _cities_ had fallen to such a look, and those who somehow held fast always surrendered at the following sound of her voice, collapsing into debauchery and chaos as each black-velvet syllable promised filth and sophistication in equal sums. There were other ways to claws one’s way back into a master’s good graces after poor results, and this was, in Jaina’s experience, by far the fastest – and potentially most fun, as well.

               “My master,” she purred, positioning her hips just so to make her intentions clear, “if there is _anything_ I can do to restore your favor, _anything at all_ , you need but t—”

               “Be gone from my sight, and silently,” the archlich grunted, sounding as if he’d rather be waiting for a dental appointment than hear one more word from her. “You leave for Eastborne tomorrow evening. In the interim, think on your failures.”

               Barely able to contain her fury, Jaina gave a halting bow, then stalked from the room without another word.

               Behind her horned skull helm, Deathbringer Sonya’s lips curled into a black smile.

+++

               Late that night, Jaina stalked the upper halls of Naxxramas, her rage stealing both sleep and sanity. She had glutted herself on the lifeforce of sacrifices that evening, draining ten in a single meal, but still the fire within burned bright and green: the sacrifices, psychotic dregs of Kel’thuzad’s students who had failed a semester once too often, willingly offered themselves to her soul-hunger, and trembled with ecstasy even as she threw them across the room, tortured them, and flayed the flesh from their bones. Their eager ends had given her no satisfaction, and now she stomped through the floating necropolis, searching for some terrified ghouls to disembowel or a lost cultist to seduce – and subsequently eat alive.

                _The nerve of that old sack of bones_ , she thought, raging at her master and his misplaced favoritism in his vaunted Deathbringer. She had despised the Deathbringer since the day she had first been summoned, thinking of the mute general as a simple, dull weapon, a blunt instrument of death and nothing more. With every praise heaped upon the silent slaughterer – whose clumsy, endless onslaughts had made the dreadlord’s tasks ten times more difficult, _she might add_ – her odium for the dual-wielding death knight had grown exponentially until it blossomed into a pure hate that Jaina almost enjoyed. _Now that marrow-brained fool takes her side when she so clearly sabotaged me!_

               Her rage pivoted again to Kel’thuzad, and to the contract he held over her, so expertly crafted by his summoning. To break it would be to ruin herself – she would be cast out from nathrezim society at best, and at worst she would face nothing less than destruction of her own twisted soul – but continuing in these conditions was unbearable.

               “Damn the contract,” she roared, clawing a chunk of rock out of the walls, “I will have _satisfaction_!”

               “Without the contract,” an icy voice behind her spoke, “you will _have_ no satisfaction.”

               Jaina whirled around on her hoof to see the Deathbringer standing in the archway, a skull-adorned axe in either hand; rendered nightmarish in the flickering green flames of the sparse torches, the sockets of her helmet blazed with malevolent ice-light. The nathrezim had barely raised her hand when the Deathbringer was on her, pinning her against the wall so hard that the stone cracked from the impact, the cracked blocks cold against her impeded wings. One axe was hooked around the dreadlord’s staff – the other at her throat.

               “You _dare_ move against the master?” The Deathbringer’s voice was hoarse and distorted by her skull-helm’s visor, a sepulchral growl that sprayed flecks of ice across Jaina’s face. Even with the supernaturally-cold steel of the axe against her neck, the nathrezim struggled to get away, but there was nothing for it – the Deathbringer pressed in with her whole body, and pushing back was like pushing against a steel wall.

               “Your master is a _fool_!,” Jaina spat, and the axe blade dug in slightly, drawing a tiny trickle of glowing blood from her neck.

               “ _Our_ master,” the Deathbringer grunted.

               “A fool all the same!” she hissed. “He idly rests on his throne like some great lord, all the while putting his faith in _you_!” The Deathbringer growled wordlessly, and the cut in Jaina’s neck grew by a centimeter, but the dreadlord’s tongue would not be chained. “You, a mindless monster in an overdramatic suit of armor, sabotaging my machinations with your fumbling offenses, hiding your ugly face behind that _ridiculous_ helmet!”

               With her free hand, Jaina took a swipe at the Deathbringer, but the armored woman was too fast, dropping the axe at the dreadlord’s neck and catching her claw in a single instant, slamming her wrist against the wall, spikes digging into stone. Suddenly releasing her grip, the Deathbringer pulled her own helmet off and let it drop to the ground with a frosty clank.

               Surrounded by a wild, shoulder-length veil of banshee-white hair, the face of Deathbringer Sonya scowled back with arched brows and eyes like blue glaciers in a black sea. Her alabaster skin was marred – or decorated – by a handsome scar across the bridge of her proud nose, and her full, frost-purple lips frowned with a vitality that could almost be mistaken for true life, not death-infused reanimation.

               The sash between Jaina’s legs twitched as the muscle behind it awoke.

               “You know nothing, dreadlord,” the Deathbringer growled, her undisguised voice husky and strong, taunting in the narrow, tongue-heavy accent of Northmen subjugated years ago by Kel’thuzad’s forces. As the Deathbringer’s hand closed around her neck, covering the cut with an armored thumb and drawing their faces closer together, Jaina was unsure what she had been so angry about.

               Then the death knight’s face moved close, and she forgot entirely.

               For a brief moment, the dreadlord’s lips were sealed against the cold of the death knight’s advance, pursed together in defiance, the fire of rage overlooked though hardly extinguished, but the Deathbringer’s tongue pushed its way into her smaller, softer mouth, and she was lost.

               The Deathbringer’s mouth tasted like an aeon-old battlefield, like a burning homestead, like the screams of innocent children and the splash of blood from an unwillingly offered neck, like death itself. Utterly intoxicated, Jaina’s fel-green eyes rolled back as she gave in, and although a fairly large portion of her mind was absolutely _livid_ at how quickly she was surrendering, the rest of her couldn’t have cared less.

               The staff dropped from her hand, all thoughts of retaliation forgotten in the heat of the moment, and the Deathbringer’s axe fell with it; Jaina’s claws traveled over the Deathbringer’s armor, scraping lightly over the ornaments and lingering on the chain mail, longing to feel the flesh within against her own, while the death knight’s gauntlet curled around her shapely rear and pulled her even closer. Woozy, almost drunk on the visions of destruction dripping from the Deathbringer’s dominating kiss, Jaina’s mind drifted to the metal-gloved fingers digging into her round bottom almost painfully as she remembered watching the Deathbringer choke the life out of many an aspiring hero with just such a grip. The pressure in the crimson wrap that encircled her groin had become exquisite; the tensely-pulled fabric bulged, straining against her thickening cock, and the dreadlord regretted binding herself so tightly that morning. Tortured and turned on, a quiet moan escaped from her throat into the Deathbringer’s mouth.

               Although the hold remained, the kiss was broken, and Jaina found herself once more staring up into the Deathbringer’s cruel eyes. As a dreadlord, Jaina was naturally taller than most mortals, but the death knight dwarfed her still. As a crueler smile spread over the Deathbringer’s lips, Jaina felt even smaller.

               “You thought our master would fall for your…wiles?” the Deathbringer asked. Bereft of her helmet, Jaina could see her aura clearly, and it stank of smug superiority. “Your feminine charms?” The Deathbringer gave Jaina’s rump another squeeze, and the nathrezim bit her lip to stifle a squeak. The death knight made a low, throaty sound, and it took Jaina a moment to identify, much to her shock, it as a _chuckle_. “The only thing our master would desire from _you_ is _this_.”

               Faster than death, the Deathbringer released Jaina’s rear and cupped her gauntlet around the growing bulge in the pinned dreadlord’s groin, squeezing just hard enough to drag a groan out of her. Jaina gasped at her lack of self-control, but the Deathbringer only smiled wider, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth like pristine tombstones.

               “He finds your… _form_ …of little interest, _nathrezim whore_ ,” the Deathbringer chuckled. At the insult, Jaina opened her mouth indignantly, a razor-sharp retort on her tongue, but the death knight’s thumb moved up from her throat, over her chin, and between her lips. As if on instinct, the nathrezim’s soft, blue lips closed around it, and her tongue drifted over its sharp, artificial point. First there was a taste of ice, then dirt, then steel, then blood, as Jaina saw – _felt_ – the Deathbringer’s most recent kill, the torn-out windpipe of an officious town magistrate who unwisely assumed the towering avatar of death before him had come to negotiate. The tension and release of flesh ripping, the spray of hot blood, the despair that erupted from the kill and slammed through the rest of the town hall like a tsunami of hopelessness – the sense-memory itself was almost orgasmic.

               As her eyes refocused on the real world, Jaina thought she saw something in the death knight’s authoritative leer soften ever so slightly, and when the Deathbringer tilted the dreadlord’s head to the side, releasing her groin and brushing the raven black hair away from the back of her neck, she did not resist. When the Deathbringer moved her armored thigh against the dreadlord’s now gloriously tight package and placed her gauntlet around Jaina’s wide hips, subtly encouraging her to move, she _could_ not resist.

               “However,” the death knight continued, planting cold little kisses along Jaina’s neck between every other word, “I do _not_. You chafe beneath our master’s yoke, but tell me, _trollop_ , would you serve _me_ instead?”

               As the Deathbringer’s mouth sealed around Jaina’s neck, her tombstone teeth biting against purple-blue flesh, the dreadlord almost answered “Yes.”

               With the death knight nibbling and sucking at her neck, Jaina began to move her hips against the trunk-like leg between her thighs, now seeking relief as much for the physical tightness at her groin as the pressure building at the base of her spine. Her clawed fingers searched for buckles and straps, desperate to get the Deathbringer’s armor off, nearly crazed to feel more, to be closer, to be _joined_. She felt like a student back at the Nathrezan Academy once more, where the young demons in heat rutted with anyone – _everyone_ – until sex became just another tool in their scheming arsenal, until it had lost its luster, its spontaneity. Fifteen minutes ago, she would have killed the Deathbringer as soon as look at her; now it was all she could do not to tear her own clothes off and fling herself into the Deathbringer’s arms.

               The sound of cloth ripping snapped Jaina out of her fantasy, and she looked down to see that her wrap had gotten caught on the Deathbringer’s kneepad, tearing the thick crimson fabric in the process. The death knight released Jaina’s neck with a wet, popping noise, leaving behind a dark, bite-shaped bruise, and grinned at the dreadlord. Without breaking eye contact, she reached down and ripped the rest of the wrap away, tossing it across her shoulder like a trophy. Finally unimpeded, Jaina’s demon cock fell free into the cold night air, rapidly engorging to its full, 10-inch length; the shaft matched her skin, but the head was a deep purple, and four small ridges ran from the base to the tip, small bumps that distinguished the tool as definitely not of that world.

               The Deathbringer looked down and her eyes widened, mouth hanging slightly open, and the smug smile was lost for a moment. Lust and pride swelled in Jaina’s black heart as she gauged the death knight’s reaction; being one of the nathrezim, she could change her form to suit. She could have made herself even bigger, but this was her preferred length, and judging by the Deathbringer’s gawking stare, going _au natural_ had been an excellent choice. Then a gauntlet closed around her shaft, and the balance of power shifted again as she found herself once more at the Deathbringer’s mercy.

               “An impressive blade, strumpet,” the death knight chuckled as she began to move her hand back and forth. Under normal circumstances the gesture would have been barely enough to arouse, but Jaina’s fires had been stoked but well, and even the slightest stimulation sent her hips bucking like an animal. She sucked in air through her teeth at the tease, and turned her face away to hide the purple shade it was turning, but the Deathbringer’s other hand was at her neck once more, forcing her to face the towering warrior. “What would you do, I wonder,” she started, and Jaina realized she would willingly listen to this woman read a necromancy textbook if it meant she could hear more of that throaty, tongue-forward accent. The death knight drawled her syllables out in time with the movements of her hand, and Jaina thought she would scream. “What _would_ you do if I _allowed_ you to put this… _thing_ … inside of me?”

               It was a trap, but Jaina, reduced to greedy, desirous nature that all demons share, couldn’t resist.

               “Seven Hells, _anything!_ ” she gasped. “ _Please!_ ”

               With a flourish, the Deathbringer took the silken wrap from her shoulder and threaded it through Jaina’s half-open mouth, binding it behind her head in a silken gag as soft as it was inescapable. The death knight kissed her lower, then upper lip, sending unearthly chills down Jaina’s spine, and smiled like a night in winter.

               “Then freeze.”

               Layers of ice sprang down from the Deathbringer’s hand around Jaina’s neck, encasing almost all of the nathrezim’s body in a matter of seconds; the icy imprisonment happened so quickly, the dreadlord barely had time to react – one moment she was free, the next she was not, held in place by nearly six inches of supernaturally-charged ice that covered every inch of her body except her head and her groin. The cold was biting, agonizing against her bare skin, and it seemed to penetrate her very armor, leaving her naked against the frosty pain. She tried to flex her arms or wings, to shatter the bonds, but it was as if her very body was itself frozen in place.

               Worse than all that, the Deathbringer had stopped touching her, and her erect cock twitched futilely in the rapidly-cooling air. Jaina cried out, a hoarse, muffled curse of pain and multi-tiered frustration, but her captor only laughed, a sound like glacial sheets crashing into frigid waters.

               “Master of manipulation indeed,” the Deathbringer taunted, crossing her arms as she admired her work. “So easy to fool when you’re thinking with _this_.” The death knight grabbed Jaina’s cock again and gave it a cruel little jerk; even encased in ice and gagged with her own sash, the dreadlord began to moan before clenching her jaw (as best she could) and turning away in shame. _Am I truly so easily manipulated_ , the dreadlord wondered, furious with herself on a multitude of levels.

               A loud crash yanked her out of her self-loathing, and she saw the Deathlord’s armor scattered on the ground, the enchantments holding it in place abandoned, revealing her captor’s full, gloriously muscle-bound form: her blue-white skin, dotted by faded battlescars, was stretched taut over an impressive, toned musculature, with powerful legs, stout hips, abs so hard they could’ve been used to wash clothing, broad shoulders, and proud breasts that pointed out like battlements on a fortress. With a little fanfare, the Deathbringer turned around, and revealed the _pièce de résistance_ : the finest ass Jaina had ever seen – besides her own, of course.

               A small bead of clear-green precum dripped from the dreadlord’s exposed cock.

                _Evidently I am,_ she thought.

               “Our master thinks you a spy; his ‘secret hand,’ weakening our foes from the shadows,” the Deathlord chided as she backed up against Jaina, rubbing her demon cock against her two shapely cheeks, pulling the foreskin back to reveal the purple head, and the nubbed ridge around it, in all its fel glory. Jaina’s breath, partial restricted by both the gag and the ice around her chests, came in quick rasps, and she whined in spite of herself. The Deathlord looked over her shoulder and _grinned_. “ _I_ know your _true_ purpose.”

               Arching her powerful hips up while positioning the dreadlord’s tool with her hand, the Deathlord placed Jaina’s tip against her own asshole – and pushed back. There was a moment of resistance as the puckered entrance held at first, then parted, the ridged head forced inside with a muffled pop. Both women grunted and groaned at the dry penetration, and Jaina tried to gnash through her gag: without lubrication, the stimulation was scintillating, grinding, and she cried out at the tightness of the Deathbringer’s rear. The death knight winced in pain too, but as she continued to slowly impale herself on Jaina’s cock, it turned to a hiss of satisfaction, as if the agony was part of the pleasure. Jaina tried to wiggle her hips away, to withdraw, to escape the painfully rough vice-grip of the Deathbringer’s ass as it took her deeper and deeper, but she could no more get away than break her icy bonds.

               When Jaina felt the Deathlord’s cheeks against her abdomen, her cock taken to the hilt at last, she moaned low and long; the death knight herself paused and purred, rubbing her stomach, leaning back and cooling herself against the nathrezim’s icy prison. She tilted her head backwards, resting it on Jaina’s frost-encased shoulder in a way that would’ve seemed romantic if not for the mocking smile across her ice-hardened features; Jaina tried to turn her face away, but found herself gazing into the Deathbringer’s merciless eyes in spite of herself. The death knight’s smile relaxed, and she kissed Jaina through the gag, locking their lips and pushing tantalizingly against the fabric with her tongue as it sought Jaina’s own. The nathrezim felt the Deathbringer’s rough hands close around her greenish-black horns, pulling their faces closer, but thought nothing of it until the death knight began to move again.

               The assault was unheralded; there was no snarky comment, no teasing wink, just desperate thrusting; the Deathbringer hammering her hips forward and back on Jaina’s unholy shaft as fast as she could, ripping a shocked, muffled ‘yawp’ from the surprised dreadlord. The Deathbringer panted into Jaina’s mouth, each filling thrust punctuated by a bestial grunt as she slammed her ass back again and again, the sound of her toned rump slapping against Jaina’s flesh echoing down the necropolis halls. The nathrezim wanted to writhe, to jerk, to shatter the ice and push the wanton death knight off, to find some sort of relief to this overwhelming sensation, but she was trapped in every way – and, much to her horror, starting to genuinely enjoy it.

               Jaina’s reeling mind went back to her days of scholarship, to the six-masked philosophy instructor that had lectured about the nature of demons, and how, at their basest level, they craved subjugation as much as domination. Jaina, proud and haughty, had scoffed at such a notion back then; she dreamed of legions at her feet, of attendants doting on her every whim, of a harem of shapely succubi and musclebound felguards. Now she felt her resistance eroding with every thrust, the Deathbringer dragging her closer and closer to the brink of orgasm with a chained collar, and she wondered if serving such a woman might not be so bad after all. _A master who does more than idle on her throne_ , she thought, _listening to my council by day, dragging me to her bedchambers every night so she can use me like the pathetic sl—_ Jaina’s mind snapped back into focus. She would _not_ be taken like this, broken like some damsel in a dark fairy tale! She would fight back! And so she fought back with the only weapon she had left: her penis.

               Though lacking the ability to cast any vocal incantation or finger-summoned rune, Jaina was still master of her own form, and if the Deathbringer wanted her cock so badly, then by the Seven Hells, she would get it. Focusing her dwindling willpower, Jaina forced her shaft to lengthen and engorge, growing inches by the second, hoping to force the death knight off.

               Like the rest of her schemes that day, it backfired.

               “Yes! Bigger! Harder!” the Deathbringer cried, breaking the kiss and redoubling her assaults, practically throwing herself back on the dreadlord. Any sense of concentrated rhythm vanished – now she was rutting like an animal, desperate and savage. Jaina complied gladly, still hoping to reach the death knight’s breaking point before her own. As the demonic cock grew to over a foot long, the Deathbringer started to laugh – not some sepulchral chuckle, but a genuine _laugh_ , a half-delirious giggle of wild ecstasy – and Jaina knew she had made a serious mistake. “Good! Very good! Fill me, yes!” The Deathbringer turned back and gave Jaina a kiss on the cheek, squeezing her chin affectionately. “So obedient, yes! Such a _good_ servant!”

               Jaina moaned, loud and ragged, in frustration and in pleasure; in growing her cock, she had also increased the stimulation it received, the Deathbringer’s ass practically hugging her shaft for dear life. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her leg muscles started to twitch involuntarily; in spite of the pain and the cold, she was about to cum, and cum harder than ever before. It was only a matter of time.

               A sharp slap cut through the haze, and Jaina saw the Deathbringer glaring at her with blazing eyes, biting her lip so hard that it drew a trickle of black blood down her chin.

               “Don’t you _dare_ cum!” she barked. “I forbid it!”

               Jaina mewled back with as much defiance as she could muster. The Deathbringer slapped her again, then grabbed her by the horns.

               “Cum and I will break your horns! Or maybe I’ll cut off this wonderful cock and mount it like a trophy, yes?!” In spite of the frigid prison, sweat was pouring down Jaina’s furrowed brow as she tried to hold back, thinking of anything – clouds, flowery meadows, sloppy hoof hygiene – to stave off the inevitable orgasm. “Cum inside me, and I’ll drag you down to the spider pits! I’ll give you to Maexxna!”

               If the Deathbringer had known of Jaina’s occasional excursions to the Arachnid Quarter – how the dreadlord had watched in half-horny, half-horrified fascination at Maexxna’s menagerie of failed cultists and fallen heroes all turned into egg incubators, their entire existence reduced to being fucked, filled, and fertilized by Maexxna’s brood for the rest of their lives, how the nathrezim had silently pleasured herself to the wanton moans of the matriarch’s prisoners as their holes were filled with eggs, eggs that would hatch into even more spiders that would be return to fertilize their ‘parents’ within a week, and how Jaina had wondered if such a fate might not be entirely bad – then she would have picked a different threat, because the deadly fantasy instead accelerated Jaina’s ascent in spite of the dreadlord’s best efforts. Jaina’s voice rose in a hoarse cry, a warning, a desperate plea that she could hold back no longer. The Deathbringer refused to stop, shoving herself madly back, screaming with desire.

               For the first time that day, at her hour of greatest need, luck smiled on the dreadlord.

               The Deathbringer toppled forward onto the floor, her body convulsing as the anal orgasm rippled through her body; she lewdly shoved her fingers into her twitching asshole, dragging even more pleasure out of her own body, hugging herself with her free hand. Jerking in a near-fetal position, the Deathbringer moaned and shook like a woman in freezing water, but grinned like a woman who had just had the greatest fucking of her life.

               Jaina groaned, both in frustration and relief, as her now 14-inch cock twitched uselessly in the cold necropolis air, teetering on the brink of ecstasy but denied that final push into the abyss. Her breaths came hoarse and desperate, and her head sagged onto her frozen chest, sweat dripping off her cheeks and solidifying the moment it fell onto the icy encasement.

               After what seemed like an hour, the Deathbringer staggered to her feet and over to her prisoner, caressing the dreadlord’s face, and planting frigid kisses on her cheeks and forehead. Jaina was still fully erect, but the Deathbringer’s stance was wide, keeping a safe distance between the demonic shaft and her milk-white thighs.

               “That,” the Deathbringer began, “was amazing.” Jaina let herself be kissed, _leaned_ into the kisses, relished the praise like a broken slave. She hardly cared at this point, only yearning for touch, for completion. “Such a good slave, my _nathrezim whore_.” The dreadlord grunted. “Would you like a reward?”

               Jaina’s eyes met the Deathbringer’s, and although the nathrezim sensed another trap, she realized she’d fallen for such deceptions all night, so, honestly, why stop then?

               “Mh-hnh,” she mumbled, nodding her head meekly.

               Without a word, the Deathbringer grabbed Jaina’s massive cock and pumped it once.

               Thick, sticky streams of glowing green cum shot across the hall, coating the stones and floor as Jaina finally went over the edge, throwing her head back and roaring with pleasure. The Deathbringer simply held her cock steady as it emptied its load, blasting glob after glob through the air for nearly a full minute. The dreadlord’s mind was in chaos, her body aflame with ecstasy but unable to move, the waves of pleasure instead echoing back and forth on each other in her frozen prison until they finally began to subside. Jaina’s cock began to grow flaccid, but the Deathbringer gave it another squeeze, then started to pump again.

               The dreadlord’s eyes snapped open in panic as her overly-sensitive prick began to stiffen again, and she stared at the Deathbringer in a silent plea.

               “You were so well-behaved, I _must_ reward you,” the Deathbringer taunted. Jaina began to shake her head, begging through a muffled mouth to be released, but the death knight grinned that cruel winter grin. With a flick of her finger, the Deathbringer disgorged the gag from Jaina’s drooling mouth, but their lips were joined again before the nathrezim could speak. As the visions of annihilation and the throbbing pain in her cock overtook her, Jaina realized she was in Hell – and loved every second.

               Five orgasms later, the Deathbringer finally released Jaina from her encasement, shattering the ice with a single snap of her fingers. The enchanted armor was back on before the ice hit the ground, and Jaina collapsed to the floor without so much as a moan, sinking at first to her knees, then forward into the truly titanic puddle of demon semen on the floor. Demons, lacking a refractory period, produce cum at a remarkable rate, and now Jaina was coated in it, every drop cruelly squeezed from her loins over the last fifteen minutes. When she heard the Deathbringer speaking, she could barely look up, let alone acknowledge it verbally.

               “My forces march for Eastborne in three days,” the Deathbringer growled, her voice once again metallic and distorted by the skeletal helmet over her head. “I’m _sure_ you’ll have taken the farms by then.” Jaina glared up at the Deathbringer with the one eye that wasn’t coated in cum. “Perhaps use that _thing_ between your legs instead of that useless tongue this time, hm?”

               The last thing Jaina heard before slipping into exhausted, sloppy slumber on the floor was the Deathbringer’s cruel laughter echoing down the halls. _I’ll show that bitch_ , she thought, curling up in the puddle of cum, too tired to give a shit, _I’ll show her…but first…sleep..._ And there she stayed until several hours later when Zagara, staggering from her own late night tryst, dragged the dreadlord back to her quarters and threw her in a bathtub.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I loved the Call of Kel'thuzad event, I love the 'corrupted heroes' trope, and I really wanted to do something with these ladies! Hope you enjoyed!


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